Peace Is but an Illusion
by BinaryCrescent
Summary: The battlefields were anything but peaceful, and Anakin would be more than qualified to say this. A rather long one-shot about that one time Anakin neglects another life-threatening injury while Rex muses over his general's state of mind. Set after Ahsoka leaves the Order and Anakin gets himself a little too close to death. Cover art credit to the amazing lorna-ka!


**Title:** Peace Is but an Illusion

**Summary: **The battlefields were anything but peaceful, and Anakin would be more than qualified to say this. A rather long one-shot about that one time Anakin neglects another life-threatening injury while Rex muses over his general's state of mind. Set after Ahsoka leaves the Order and Anakin gets himself a little too close to death. Cover art credit to the amazing lorna-ka!

**Author's Note: **This idea has been around in my head for a while now, and I really wanted to explore how Anakin coped on the battlefield after Ahsoka left. This fic will explore Rex and Anakin's relationship, and how Anakin is always that infuriating general that refuses to properly take care of himself. Truthfully, Anakin Skywalker enjoys too little of peace. Obi-Wan appears and there are references to both Padmé and Ahsoka. No Slash. Set within canon after Ahsoka leaves but before the Siege of Mandalore. Master Vokara Che is a character referenced from Legends.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Star Wars or Star Wars: The Clone Wars and characters in this story do not belong to me.

* * *

Peace had never been Anakin Skywalker's companion.

There was no peace on the _Resolute_. The ship's engines hummed and whirred incessantly, the atmosphere always tense with the approach of yet another mission, another battle. The footsteps of mobilising clone troopers were barely muted by the thick durasteel walls, and it was always there, a dull background noise to remind him of all the soldiers under his command, relying on him to make it out of the battle alive. The responsibility weighed down on him constantly as he pored over holomap after holomap, case file after case file with Admiral Yularen to devise the best strategy, the war room's eerie blue light illuminating their faces as they worked tirelessly. The ship's lighting was a harsh blinding white, its halls neat and patrolled, the air sterile and cold, its walls sturdy and ominous (claustrophobic to a boy who grew up in the open desert), making him yearn open space desperately. He never found peace within a ship of battle.

There was no peace on Coruscant. The endless stream of speeders zooming along the traffic lanes in the skyline was chaotic to say the least. On the Republic capital, everything was hurried, rushed; everyone had businesses to attend to. The underbelly of the planet was nothing short of a wretched hive of scum and villainy, and one had to be on the constant lookout for notorious petty thieves or menacing crime lords. On the glamorous upper levels, the Senate was yet another battlefield masked under the highly polished exterior and the lavish outfits of distinguished Senators. The Rotunda was constantly filled with the incensed shouting of representatives, as delegates bickered endlessly over decisions of war - for their own interests or for the good of the galaxy, he could not tell. And sometimes not even in Padmé's apartment could he find solace. Each soft word, each loving embrace exchanged with his wife reminded him of how afraid he was to lose his angel to this desolate war. And each visit was too brief, way too brief for them to ease the strain of war from their minds ever so slightly before they were summoned to their respective battlefields.

There was no peace even in the Temple. The Temple was supposed to be the haven of Jedi, a place to seek solitude and calm amidst the chaos ravaging the galaxy. He was supposed to find peace in meditation, and release his feelings to the Force, just as Obi-Wan taught him. But for all the Jedi Order had provided for him, he failed to find a home even in the Temple when all other Jedi did. He never fitted in, never found a place among his peers when they all whispered behind his back, never really got over the loss of his mother when he was taken away, never obeyed the rules of attachment held in such high reverence by the Order. The Force was strong with him; he was much more sensitive and attuned to it than most Jedi, but lately it was a troubling presence, whispering words of warnings he didn't understand, with a chilling undercurrent of darkness that unnerved him and set him on edge constantly. Whenever he attempted to settle down and meditate in the chambers or the garden, too often he found himself confused by the disturbing flow of the Force and the darkness that threatened to engulf him.

But peace was certainly not to be found on the battlefront. Anakin flinched as another explosion appeared over the horizon, dimly wondering whether it hit the damned droids or his troops. The din of blaster fire, the rumbling of tanks and the shouts of his men were the only noises that resounded in his head. Everywhere he looked, chaos reigned and destruction ravaged the mottled landscape. The fallen bodies of clones and decapitated battle droids scattered across the barren battleground while flames razed the rocky terrain. The Republic was advancing, pushing towards their target, but not without considerable loss. He tried to look away, tried so hard to act as though the deaths didn't affect him in the least - after all, hadn't he seen his fair share of deaths ever since the war began? But he had never been able to see the clones that way, when all other Jedi merely perceived it as the will of the Force - they mourned, yes, but they did not dwell on it. Releasing his tumultuous emotions was something Anakin was never good at, much to Obi-Wan's chagrin. He refused to dismiss the clones as expendable, refused to forget the men that had been chuckling with their brothers just moments ago, refused to regard them as _slaves_. He shivered slightly, shaking his head to clear himself from the troubling ghosts of Tatooine.

Right now he had more pressing matters to deal with. Another battalion of droids was marching towards them, a last-ditch effort to delay the imminent victory of the Republic. Rex quickly rallied what's left of the weary troops in an attempt to keep up the assault. They could not risk falling back when their success in seizing this post was so crucial to the capture of this planet. Anakin knew that generals and troops elsewhere were depending on their triumph in this system to claim victory in this sector of the Outer Rim. He ignited his lightsaber, a grim look on his face as he ordered the troops to shoot down the droids while he provided cover. Rex nodded, his helmet battered from all the battles he had been in, and shouted words of encouragement to boost the men's morale.

Anakin launched himself over the ledge they'd been sheltering behind and charged, lightsaber blazing as he deflected the volley of blaster fire directed at him. His movements were swift and fluid as he mowed through the unfortunate droids that stood in his way. He could hear the yells of his men as they fired back at the Separatists, bringing down the rest of the droids as Anakin leapt onto the tanks and disabled them with a swift blow of his lightsaber. Metal screeched as tank after tank crumpled and exploded. Super battle droids guarding the tanks were either crushed or sliced in half by the quick work of his lightsaber. The yelps of startled droids were soon replaced by the sizzling of smouldered metal and fried circuits, and he knew that the troopers had finished off the last of the battalion.

For a moment, Anakin felt right in his element, the familiar excitement of action overcoming the weariness of ongoing battles, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he surveyed the field littered with destroyed droids. For a moment, it felt as though they had emerged victorious. They had secured the post at last.

Then the world disappeared in a flash of searing crimson and blinding white.

Anakin was dimly aware that a bomb was dropped amongst them unnoticed. The thought barely had time to register in his mind before he felt himself thrown off his feet, flung through the air for what seemed like an eternity before landing on the hard uneven ground. A high-pitched whine filled his ears, drowning out everything - he could not hear the noise of the battlefield, he could not hear the panicked shouts of troopers. The air was knocked out of him and something, warm and wet, was spilling from his side. He opened his eyes with a great deal of coughing and spluttering, only to find the field blazing with flames and filled with the moans of injured troopers as smoke drifted over the scene.

Placing his hand on a nearby boulder, he gingerly pulled himself to his feet despite his body's protests, gasping as agony coursed through him. He hunched over and closed his eyes for a moment, taking in shuddering deep breaths to dull the pain. _Blast it._ He took another deep breath and steadied himself. It was not the time to falter and rest. Lifting his head and scanning his surroundings quickly, he noticed just how many of his men were hurt. They needed more medical attention than him.

"Captain," he called and felt relief surge through him as Rex, somewhat disoriented but unhurt, answered across the field and ran over. "Get someone to bring the injured troops to the medical centre. There're still some Seppies within that post. Round up all the men you can get. We're going in."

"Yes, sir." Rex straightened and turned to carry out the orders, ever the perfect soldier. Anakin turned towards the remains of the Separatist post and his brows furrowed. There probably weren't a lot of droids left and would've been easy to take under normal circumstances, but his troops were spread thin. He gritted his teeth as his wound stung in pain. A quick glance at the injury made him nauseous. The side of his tunic was ripped and stained crimson, but thankfully the dark colour of his robes would make that inconspicuous. Making his way towards the pack of a fallen soldier nearby, he rummaged through the supplies before coming across the emergency medkit, digging out the small bottle of painkillers. Swallowing the lot of it dry, he let out a low sigh as he waited for the drug to kick in, wrapping the Force around his wound the best he could to contain the blood flow for the moment. This battle had better end quickly. He wasn't sure he could last out that long. He closed his eyes briefly. _Would it be better if he just perished out here on the battlefield? He could die a glorious death, a death fit for the hero the galaxy made him out to be. He could just escape from all this havoc, all this pain, all this suffering..._

His eyes flew open. _Stop this,_ he scolded himself. _A Jedi does not choose his death. Your allegiance and service were sworn the day you were made a Jedi. Your death shall be the will of the Force and the Republic. _But the small voice at the back of his head spoke darkly. _Would the Jedi Council care if you were truly worn down by this war? Would they mourn you? Who could say they wouldn't just cast you away, like they cast away Ahsoka?_ Anakin felt his insides clench at the memory of his young Padawan, who had been so bubbly and full of life, so dedicated to the service of the Republic before everyone she stood for turned against her and condemned her with scorn... He was a failure, a poor excuse of a Master who couldn't even protect his own apprentice and shield her from all the suffering she had to endure. If he did die out here, he deserved it. He had failed so many and so many had laid down his lives for him - all those fallen Jedi on Geonosis, all those perished soldiers that served with him... Would the galaxy even remember the Republic's poster boy after a brief flurry of Holonet tabloid news in the immediate aftermath of his death?

He felt more hopeless than he had ever felt before. War tended to do that to people. Yet, the little light in the Force was desperately reminding him why he was fighting - who he was fighting for. _Padmé_. His heart softened when he thought of his wife, his radiant angel, his only anchor in these bleak times. Memories of her beautiful smile surfaced and her gentle words rang in his head, consoling him, comforting him. He had to fight on, he couldn't just fall yet. He would return to Padmé, and they would sink into each other's arms, just as they did all those years before on Naboo.

"Sir! Reporting as ordered, sir!" Rex's voice sounded behind him, and Anakin quickly turned around, collecting his demeanour and pretending to be the assured General he was meant to be, ignoring the dimming pain in his side. He surveyed the pitifully small group of troopers he had at hand, all evidently weary. But he had to make use with what he had.

"All right, men. Judging from the position of the bomb they launched, the Seppies should be hiding in the higher levels. There shouldn't be many left, but there might be a few commando droids in there. Advance carefully and try your best to capture whichever planetary leaders we find."

"Yes, sir!" The clones answered sharply.

Anakin turned and led the small group of troopers across the barren land cautiously, lightsaber in hand and prepared for snipers picking them off like sitting ducks - which they were, traversing across the no man's land that provided no cover. The Force was screaming in warning about a trap (as if he didn't know already), but as his master taught him, the best way to deal with a trap was to spring it.

The post was fashioned out of a series of interconnected ghetto systems, the corridors and rooms hollowed out of the cliff face crudely. The species that inhabited this barren wasteland of a planet, the Hobavians, took their name from this Outer Rim planet and were relatively primitive. But apparently, some of those scummy tribes decided to make a bargain with the Separatists and offered their homeworld, a critical checkpoint in the Jervad sector, as an outpost location. Anakin face was grim as he gripped the hilt of his lightsaber tighter, the blue light of his humming blade providing little lumination in the dim corridors. They were approaching the command centre and he held out a hand, gesturing to the clones to slow down as they proceded more apprehensively than ever, their footsteps scarcely making a sound. At his signal, the troopers broke down the door and rushed in, blasters firing at whatever doomed droids that were still manning their stations.

As he had expected, several commando droids leapt to life at the sight of the intruders, blasters at the ready and firing with deadly accuracy. Anakin winced as a number of the shots found their mark and troopers cried out as they went down. He quickly moved forward, trying his best to deflect the bolts in the restricted space of the low-ceilinged room. He was so afraid that the bolts would ricochet and hit his troopers instead, so afraid that he would be the one who brought about his men's death. His movements were clumsier than usual and he had fight for focus as exhaustion and injury began to wear him down. Somehow he managed to cut down three of the deadly droids, panting from the fight that drained his effort more than usual, stumbling a little as he leaned against one of the rock walls for support and returned his deactivated lightsaber to his belt. His men had overpowered the rest of the Separatist force, with fallen clankers and tactical droids strewn across the floor while the tribe chiefs were captured and rounded up. Yet the losses were high, too high. Almost half of his men were gone, hit in the confusion of crossfire as bolts flew around within the tiny space, smoke curling from the charred holes of their armour. The grief of death hit him once more, the losses eating away at his soul, knawing at what little sanity he still retained, leaving him hollower and emptier than ever.

He should never have let down his guard. The next moment a commando droid, lurking in the shadows during the fight, tackled him from behind and knocked him to the ground. He barely had time to cry out in surprise before overwhelming pain exploded from his wound, which had hit the ground unceremoniously in the fall. The painkillers did little to dull the agony and it took all his training and resolve to stop himself from whimpering. His defence was sluggish, his lightsaber ignited and raised a moment too slow. A blaster bolt burrowed into his flesh arm and he hissed in pain, swinging his lightsaber wildly to drive the droid away. But before the droid could retaliate more maliciously, a volley of blue bolts engulfed it. Anakin blinked in surprise as a pile of smouldering metal scraps became the only remains of it moments later. The troopers had saved him again.

Rex ran over and tried to help him up, but Anakin waved him off and pulled himself to his feet by leaning on the wall for support, turning away from his men so they wouldn't see his pained expression. He thanked the troops for saving his life once more, to which they only responded with a solemn "it's our duty, sir". Rex was eyeing his arm wound with a hint of worry, but he hid it well under the collected facade of an obedient soldier. _At least he doesn't know about my side wound. _He shook his head slightly at his Captain to assure him that he wasn't badly hurt, knowing that Rex wouldn't believe him in the least but had served with him long enough to know when to drop the topic. Besides, there wasn't a clone medic or a med droid amongst them so there really wasn't anything they could do about the wound until they returned to base. Rex nodded sceptically before turning his attention to the rest of the troops, instructing them to carry their fallen and injured brothers as they began to make their way back.

Anakin let Rex take the lead, lagging behind the group under the excuse that he would be bringing up the rear. He cradled his injured arm and walked gingerly as pain shot from his side wound every few steps. The painkillers were wearing off, and Anakin wondered if they would do much good even if they were in effect. It was becoming more difficult to take breaths, and he knew from experience that it probably meant a broken rib - another injury to top his growing list. Black spots danced before his eyes, and several times he stumbled on the rough ground hewn with shards of rock and debris. Every once so often Rex cast a concerned glance in his direction, and he put on a slightly more composed demeanour, trying his best to act nonchalant - which was rather difficult when you were severely injured, he found.

Later he would often wonder how he lasted that long. By the time they had reached base, his condition had worsened to the point he could hardly walk. The world was spinning, a haze of bleary brown and grey, and everything seemed shrouded in a sheen of smoke and dust. His control over the Force was slipping, and he was dimly aware that the wound in his side was spilling fresh warm blood all over his stained robes. With grim worry, he realized that his arm was going numb and he could hardly feel the entire left side of his body. _One more step. Just one more step. I can't rest before my men are treated._

His vision was a blur as clones made for the field med centre, exhaustion clear in their dragged steps. Through the lifted flap of the tent, he could make out the busy moving blob that was the medic, weaving in and out between the wounded soldiers, engrossed in his work as he quickly examined each of his brothers.

The med centre was overflowing and there were so many wounded... Maybe he could wait a little longer, he could wait till the _Resolute_ medbay...

He turned and made his way slowly and painstakingly towards the gunship that would transport the travel-fit troops back to the_ Resolute_. He could see Rex standing near the door, waving at him to get on board.

He never made it that far.

* * *

Rex should have seen it a mile away.

He mentally cursed himself as he raced towards the fallen General, chastising himself for not noticing the signs earlier. He should've seen it in General Skywalker's lagging footsteps, the laboured and hitching breaths, the pained grimaces he sought to hide. He should've known something was wrong the moment the General shook his head and tried to tell him that he was alright.

Something he had picked up from serving with General Skywalker: when it came to his health, the young Jedi's word could never be trusted.

One moment he was making his way towards the gunship, and the next second he had toppled over and crumpled on the rocky ground, unmoving. Rex was running, yelling at the troops to get a hover-stretcher, shouting out orders amidst the confusion. The General was drifting in and out of consciousness, his breathing shallow and irregular. Rex tried calling his name a few times, but the young man was unresponsive to the voices around him.

The captain furrowed his brows. Surely an arm wound couldn't knock out Skywalker. He'd seen the young General insisting to continue his prowl of the battlefield despite sustaining injuries, he'd seen him pacing restlessly in the medbay demanding to be released as the medic desperately attempted to placate him, he'd seen him so full of life and energy as he raced with Commander Tano on missions, laughing good-naturedly and exchanging snide remarks with the young girl.

But that was before Commander Tano left. Rex would never know exactly what happened and what words were exchanged between Master and Padawan that fateful day. He was a clone trooper, and while General Skywalker was closer with his men than most Jedi were, the lines between superior and subordinate remained clear. All he knew was that the General was never the same again. He'd lean to his side when igniting his lightsaber, turning towards a non-existent padawan to suggest a droid-count competition before realizing she was not there; he would hold out his hand and ask for a tool from under his starfighter as he tinkled with it, only to remember that she was gone and Artoo was on the other side of the ship; he would stare into space absent-mindedly at times when he sat in the field tent that was intended for two, the tent which they hadn't bothered replacing even though there was only one Jedi to sleep in it now.

It's been months since the bright lively Togruta had been gone, and General Skywalker never forgot her. The 501st never forgot her, her memory lurking amongst them like a ghostly presence that reminded them of the early days of the war. Sometimes she was brought up by a distracted trooper reminiscing about the old days, before her name died on his lips and the men changed the topic hurriedly as if it was taboo, stealing hasty glances at their General.

Rex knew how General Skywalker hadn't been taking care of himself for months now, growing ever more reckless and agitated on the battlefield, furiously taking out entire droid legions in spontaneous outbursts and steadfastly ignoring the injuries he suffered in the process. Only General Kenobi's gentle chiding and reminders had any restraint on him. Rex saw how black circles lurked under the young Jedi's eyes, how he seemed more tired and weary than ever as he prepared for onslaught after onslaught, mission after mission the Council assigned. Yet he seldom failed the tasks he was given, battling the Separatists with more vigour than ever, and Rex knew that Skywalker was trying to release all his pent-up anger and frustration on the battlefield. The Captain respected his General and kept his distance, but every once so often... he couldn't help wondering how the young Jedi would cope after the war. The war had consumed him, consumed them all, twisting and turning them into creatures constantly living in fear of battle. Vigilance and unrest had become something intrinsically ingrained into their souls.

Rex was no medic, but he shifted the General into a more comfortable position to better inspect his wounds. His helmet hid his grimace as he lifted the General's hand to reveal the nasty side wound pouring blood at a startling rate. Flashes of the explosion preceding the command centre infiltration resurfaced in his mind, and he realized with alarm just how long General Skywalker had been concealing his injury from them. Somehow he must have managed to last out and lead the task force to complete the mission. Typical of Skywalker to completely neglect his own health just to get the job done and his troops to safety.

The ground medical centre was overflowing with injured troopers, and the best they could do was to rush him onto the LAAT/i and back to the _Resolute_. They quickly lifted him onto an awaiting stretcher, and the movement brought about an abrupt convulsion with the General crying out in pain as he was transferred. He started to cough violently, blood trickling from his lips with every heave of his chest. Rex gently eased the Jedi Knight to lie back down on the crimsoned-stained stretcher, worry crossing his features as rivets of blood seeped into the rocky ground below.

The journey to the cruiser passed in a blur. Skywalker was restless, shifting on the stretcher constantly and moaning with every jolt of the ship. Rex suspected hallucinations caused by severe blood loss, and tried to ignore the vulnerability his General displayed as soft mumbles from the injured man reached his ears over the roar of the engines. It was... unnerving to see his General in this state. Usually, he sought to be as stoic and confident as possible before the troops, and he was always in control, always full of energy, always fearless, always rushing into battle with blatant disregard of his own safety. It was a sign of how bad the pain was for Skywalker to allow his men to see him like this.

They were moving before the ship had even docked properly, sprinting down corridors, slamming gates open, shoving past patrolling clones to get the General to the medbay, all while blood streamed from the wound and drenched the stretcher in a dark shade of red. Drops of blood dripped onto the sterile metal floor and stained the durasteel as the men raced with their General's life on the line.

A look of mingled shock and alarm was on Kix's face when Rex barged in with several other troopers, their armours dusty and singed from the previous battle. The clone medic dropped his datapad and ran towards the stretcher when he realized who was on it, directing his brothers to lay the General on a nearby bed. Face grim, Kix wasted no time in getting to work, deftly pulling an oxygen mask over the face of the scarcely breathing Jedi, plugging in countless tubes filled with unnamed liquids, busily pushing buttons on the life support console and making adjustments to keep Skywalker's body functioning. He reached for a roll of bandages and started staunching the blood flow, not even bothering to hide his exasperation at the General's reckless ways of self-neglect. The sheer amount of injuries Skywalker sustained - and ignored - on the field constantly drove Kix up the wall in the aftermath of a battle, and Kix perpetually grumbled about how infuriating it was to tend to a patient who refused to be treated. But Rex knew that deep down he did care for the General, and it was always Kix who shouldered the responsibility of bringing the young Jedi back from the brink in difficult times like these.

Rex observed his brother's determined face as he injected syringe after syringe of serums and fluids into Skywalker's body, attaching IV lines to transfer blood in attempts to stabilize the dangerous condition of the General. Med-droids moved forward and pushed the other clones back, hurriedly doing their jobs as they monitored the body status and ran scanners to check for complications. Sensing that their presence was no longer required, Rex quietly led the other soldiers to exit the medbay, trusting Kix and the med-droids to take care of the General.

He let the rest of the men return to the barracks, and they left wearily, obviously battered and worn from all the action. Rex wanted to just shed his armour and get some much-deserved rest as well, but he reminded himself that he had duties to carry out as the Captain. He had yet to report about the recent events that transpired.

He entered the bridge to find Admiral Yularen expecting him already. The Admiral raised a quizzical eyebrow at the absence of General Skywalker and inquired him about the mission. Rex quickly gave him a brief description of events before a clone officer informed them of an incoming transmission from Coruscant. Admiral Yularen stepped before the holo-projector and Rex stood in General Skywalker's place to give the report as the serious faces of the Jedi Council Masters flickered into view amidst the blue light.

"Where is Skywalker?" General Windu probed, his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. "I believe that he was the one in charge of leading the siege on Hobav?"

"Uh, sir," Rex started, fidgeting slightly. "I'm afraid General Skywalker is in no condition to report to the Council. He has been severely wounded in an explosion and the subsequent infiltration of the Separatist post."

"Please don't tell me," General Kenobi sighed, his brow creasing with worry as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "that Anakin 'forgot' to treat his wounds before it was too late _again_." Noticing Rex's uncomfortable expression, his tone softened. "I'm sure you have done what you could, Captain. I will speak with Anakin myself and see if I could help him." Rex responded with a stiff and somewhat grateful nod. He didn't miss the underlying "we will talk about this later" that General Kenobi's words obviously conveyed.

"Proceed to report the mission, you must. Critical, the mission on Hobav is." Master Yoda spoke gravely.

Rex straightened up and launched into a recount of the mission with his face eased into that of an impassive soldier's, starting from the attack on the Separatist post to the explosion and the infiltration. The Jedi Masters' faces were grim from the heavy casualties he described, but their furrowed brows eventually smoothened out somewhat at the mention of the final victory and subsequent capture of the ringleaders. The Hobav System was finally secure.

"Discuss the Hobav victory, the Council must. Great implications on Republic success in the Jervad Sector, the capture of Hobav has." Master Yoda nodded thoughtfully as Rex completed his report. "Return to the Temple for treatment and recovery, Skywalker must."

"My congratulations to Skywalker on another successful mission." General Windu spoke, his face stern as always despite the compliment. "Make haste to return to Coruscant. He is to recover before partaking in the next part of the Jervad Sector Siege."

Admiral Yularen bowed his head slightly as the Jedi Council did the same and ended the transmission. With a nod to Rex, the Admiral moved off to pass orders to officers and troopers alike, coordinating the crew to prepare for the jump to hyperspace. The Captain returned the gesture with formality before turning to leave the bridge.

He ought to return to the barracks, he knew. He should get some rest and recover before they landed on Coruscant and were shipped out to face the war on yet another distant planet again. But he couldn't help thinking of General Skywalker and it wasn't long before he found himself on a course to the medbay.

Kix barely spared him a glance as he entered, hurrying to treat his other wounded brothers that had just arrived on the _Resolute_, transported in batches by the remaining gunships. Rex didn't bother him and just walked quietly to the corner, where he knew Skywalker would lay. The young General got himself into so many scrapes that Kix all but reserved a spot for him in the flagship's medbay.

Kix had stabilized Skywalker's condition considerably, but the General was still unfit for a bacta tank treatment yet. They would have to send him to the Temple to be overseen by Jedi Healers for the rest of his recovery when they return to Coruscant. Sitting down on a stool next to the unconscious General, Rex couldn't help notice how peaceful and calm the young man looked. He almost laughed when those words appeared in his head.

_Peaceful_. _Calm_. He doubted anyone in the Republic ever associated those two words with Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. Skywalker was known for his restlessness, for his thirst of battle, for his reckless strategies and outrageous manoeuvres. No, Skywalker didn't get the title of the Hero with No Fear by acting the part of the cool and rational commander that General Kenobi was; he got it by practically barging into space battles in his starfighter, never hesitating to show off his fancy flying tricks, forever thinking on his feet, always putting himself into more risk than his men just so he could save so many more. Only Skywalker would be insane enough to kamikaze a Star Destroyer into a Separatist Control Ship to break through a blockade and have the nerve to bail his survival on a young Padawan to retrieve him in a defenceless escape pod. Yet Skywalker ended up becoming the Republic's poster boy for the exact same reasons the Council distrusted him; he was brash and reckless, but his unorthodox methods produced results - and the Republic needed every victory they could procure in these desperate times.

What citizens binging on Holonet tabloids didn't know was the human beneath the glamorous Hero. What the Republic military didn't know was the man behind the victorious General. What the Council didn't know was the person beneath the cocky Knight. They were not the ones to see his General choking down painkillers to keep moving during a battle, taking more medications than a human should ever have to; they were not the ones who were woken up in the middle of the night by terrified gasps, only to break into the General's tent to find him thrashing in some nightmare; they were not the ones who had to carry his General's bleeding form to the medbay after yet another collapse or seizure, and watch him spend days in bacta before he forced himself up to regain command again; they were not the ones to witness the crestfallen and grief-stricken face of the General in the aftermath of a battle, to face those haunted eyes who knew more loss than anyone his age should have to. He used to have Commander Tano to keep him company, to watch his stubborn back, to understand him in these difficult times, before she too, left him in the mess of this war. It took him a long time to fully understand, but Rex knew those blue eyes of his General were haunted - haunted by the ghosts of this war, by his fear of losing those dear to him. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder how General Skywalker kept his façade up all these times, pretending to be the daring hero, pretending to be the confident commander, pretending to be the assured master before his insecure Padawan, when he was in fact, the most fearful of them all.

Sometimes Fate wasn't fair, Rex thought, to pile more pain on those who suffered the most. No young man should get to rest peacefully only when he was critically injured, Jedi General of the Grand Army of the Republic or not. It wasn't fair that clones have to be bred solely to sacrifice their lives on the battlefield like livestock bred for slaughter. It wasn't fair that Padawans - little older than younglings themselves- had to be driven into a tumultuous war created by their elders and act like the Commanders they were told to be, leading squadrons of men with heavy responsibility thrust onto their scrawny shoulders before they were even ready. Commander Tano grew up exceptionally, and Rex was glad to see that the kid had learnt to cope with her duties and mature into a confident young woman. General Skywalker did train her well. But that was before the Council trampled on their lives and dismissed their deep bond as nothing more than a necessarily-severed attachment.

Rex was programmed to serve the Republic as a loyal soldier, but he was not blind to the misery he witnessed in the far reaches of the galaxy. He was the one fighting the gruesome battles out there with his brothers while aristocrats and politicians gracefully socialised over glasses of overflowing liquor in their polished chambers. He saw pain and suffering inflicted by wretched battles on war-torn worlds, he saw the grief in the eyes of tormented souls who lost their loved ones, he saw the brutal and cruel side of the supposedly benevolent Republic he was ordered to serve. Were they clones even so different from the soulless droids they were commanded to fight? How many in the Republic even regarded them as true living people with individual minds and unique characters?

Even Skywalker, a Jedi Knight and a war hero no less, was not free from such indifference. Rex wondered if the Jedi Council ever saw him for who he really was - a young man trying to balance the ideals he was taught and the brutal reality of war he witnessed on the front lines. He had heard stories, stories of how young Padawans were Knighted at an age that would never have been considered prudent before the Geonosis fiasco. Rex had no qualms about being led into battle by his General and he trusted Skywalker's insane tactics even after all these missions, despite his young age. Yet he often wondered if the Jedi Knight, a Padawan not so long ago, should be sent into the harsh fray of war and introduced to a world of suffering and pain with innocence robbed from him so early. He knew of his General's frustration about the Council's distrust, of his position in this war as nothing more of a pawn, a piece on the chessboard sent forth to do as its master bids. Rex couldn't help but remember his earlier report to the Council, remembering the formal and indifferent wordings of the Jedi Masters, remembering their decision of shipping Skywalker back to the front again immediately after recovery. The young man would barely have time to enjoy the temporary peace before the 501st would find themselves with their General on the front once more, in the midst of hurtling blaster bolts and distressed cries of pain and the deafening racket of war that engulfed battlefields.

He shook himself from his musings - he was meant to serve the Republic without question, with absolute obedience, and these thoughts would be considered treasonous if he spoke them out loud. Maybe it was just the fatigue clouding his mind, muddling his thoughts, that's all. Rex pulled his attention away from his unconscious General and shook his head slightly, the exhaustion of battle finally catching on to him.

* * *

Anakin woke to the sound of someone shifting at his bedside, his mind still a haze from the Hobav "accident". He remembered someone frantically shouting, calling for a medic, an explosion, droids... everything was a fuzzy mess in his brain. He must have got injured and somehow ended up on Coruscant in the Halls of Healing... _again_. He mentally groaned at the thought of Master Che's stern lectures about her young patient's reckless exploits.

"Glad to see that you have woken, Anakin." A familiar voice sounded, gentle and slightly weary. Obi-Wan. "From what I've heard, you gave Rex and the men quite a difficult time."

Images of his mission flashed across his brain as he recalled what had happened before his collapse. Anakin pushed himself up, black spots dancing before his eyes as he did so. "I had to do my duty, Obi-Wan." He grimaced as he glanced down at the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. "I couldn't just abort the mission halfway because I got a scrape."

His mentor sighed, his brow creasing. "Bleeding yourself to death from an explosion wound is not a _scrape_, Anakin." Obi-Wan's tone was exasperated as he admonished his former Padawan. "I understand wanting to take care of your men, but you have to start being more mindful of yourself too. I assure you, Master Che was none too pleased when she had to put you in a bacta tank for two days."

To his credit, Anakin did gulp at the mention of the Chief Healer's displeasure and Obi-Wan couldn't suppress the small quirk of his lips. Then the tiny smile melted away and was replaced with a look of worry. "You must rest now, Anakin. Recover your strength as soon as possible and enjoy this small stretch of peace while it lasts." The older Jedi's expression was wistful, as if he regretted that the young Knight enjoyed so little of peace and that he had to be injured to be allowed temporary reprieve.

Another sigh fell from Obi-Wan's lips. "I'm afraid that you will have to leave for the Jervad Sector again very soon after you have healed." He informed Anakin with an almost apologetic expression. "The Council wishes you to be part of the command in the next Jervad Siege, seeing that you have led the victory on Hobav."

Anakin nodded, appearing nonchalant and understanding. "Of course. Duty comes first and the Republic needs every Jedi they've got these days." _And even so, they've expelled Ahsoka from their ranks and convicted her, despite my Padawan being one of the best warriors out there on the field._ Anakin shoved that thought aside roughly and forced himself to focus on the present.

Obi-Wan smiled, tired and grateful. "Thank you, Anakin. Do take care of yourself on the battlefield. I'd hate to talk with Rex again about your... _condition_ again." He arched an eyebrow.

Anakin grinned half-heartedly. "You look after yourself, old man."

His former master patted him on his good arm before exiting the room and leaving the young Jedi to rest. The grin fell from Anakin's lips and his charade crumbled the moment Obi-Wan left. _Force_, he can't even rest peacefully for longer than a week. He won't even have time to see Padmé during his time onworld - he could leave her a message assuring his safety at most. The injuries on the surface would heal within a few days - in a few days, he would don the mask of a fearless Hero once more, leading his troops as a general on the front. The wounds deep within would remain hidden, reopening on desperate sleepless nights as the horrors of war caught on to him, and he would be left with the troubling thoughts of his own mind, fighting off the darkness that wrapped their invisible tendrils around him, suffocating him, dragging him down...

He grabbed the datapad from the bedside table, pulling up the HoloNet and scrolling through the war reports aimlessly to distract himself. None of the glaring headlines and lucrative stories made any sense to him anymore, and his eyes skimmed over word after word.

_"Another Planet Secured by the Hero with No Fear!"_

_"Jedi General Claims Victory in the Outer Rim!"_

_"Republic Troops Pushing Back Evil Separatist Forces!"_

He was sure his name appeared in several reports, depicted as the charismatic and courageous Hero the media made him out to be. The Republic's poster boy. He saw himself in the broadcast made a few weeks before, flashing his famous smile as he called upon the citizens to support the Republic's cause, reassuring them that progress was made on the front and their safety was protected. The Jedi Knight in the HoloNet felt detached from himself, a façade to hide his insecurities, a glorious and perfect image masking the person underneath - the real Anakin Skywalker, the reckless, stubborn, struggling young man who was collapsing under all the expectations and pressure he was put under.

He took in a shuddering breath as he tossed the datapad aside, suddenly revolted and wishing to have nothing to do with the HoloNet at all. He buried his head in his hands, his head throbbing painfully as he shut his eyes tight, blocking out all the chaos this stupid _wretched_ war has brought. He wished more than anything to have Padmé next to him, to have his angel caress him gently and comfort him with her soft words.

But no, this was the Jedi Temple, and that wish, a wish to be _peaceful_ for a _Force-kriffing_ moment was nothing more than a wild desperate dream.

The young Jedi Knight left the Halls of Healing a few days later and boarded the _Resolute_ again.

The illusion of peace shattered around Anakin Skywalker as he found himself charging into battle once more, the faithful 501st behind him as they braved a sea of pain, chaos and blaster fire again.

The battlefields were anything but peaceful.

**THE END**

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